Your Persian Dagger is the namesake of your people. Quick and sharp--precise in accuracy, and cruel when necessary--it is more an extension of who you are than a mere weapon.

In the early morning you wake to begin your sword drills. Honing your skill will one day mean the difference between life and death in this violent world. When you join the army and march upon the Spartans, you look forward to finally testing your blade against the most deadly fighters in the world.

"Once you were in the hands of a Grand Vizier, you were dead. Grand Viziers were always scheming megalomaniacs. It was probably in the job description: 'Are you a devious, plotting, unreliable madman? Ah, good, then you can be my most trusted adviser.'"

Almost all LARP weapons are made from a foam that is then covered in a plasticised acrylic-latex paint. If not maintained, this paint eventually dries out and can flake or crack. To avoid, a silicon outer coat is applied to all weapons but is slowly worn off as the weapon strikes other weapons, shields and armour. Maintenance spray ensures your weapons are kept in the best condition possible by reinforcing this silicon layer and keeping the PAX paint underneath it moist and supple.It should be applied after every combat, or at least once a month.

Char-a'ina translates as "four mirror", referring to the four plates that compose this type of armour. the historical examples that survive to today are usually those of noblemen, highly detailed and engraved with scenes of from the lives of those that wore them. We have left these blank so you can inscribe your own upon the mirror's faces.

Your Persian Blade is the namesake of your people. Quick and sharp--precise in accuracy, and cruel when necessary--it is more an extension of who you are than a mere weapon.

In the early morning you wake to begin your sword drills. Honing your skill will one day mean the difference between life and death in this violent world. When you join the army and march upon the Spartans, you look forward to finally testing your blade against the most deadly fighters in the world.

Dueling the greatest fencer in the kingdom wouldn’t have been your first choice, but it’s the only one you have if you don’t want to end up in the gallows. You are to prove your innocence through Trial of Combat.

Thankfully you called in a favor to one of the town’s swordsmiths. With a brand new Trident Dagger, you might actually stand a chance. But then again, as you watch the fencer unsheath his rapier and give it a casual flourish, you still feel a small tremor of fear in your grip.

Your clan needs blood in order to perform a powerful ritual before battle. You have captured many new slaves, and the chief has decided to force them into a tournament. The losers shall be sacrificed.

As the clan’s shaman, you await your first victim. There are cheers and roars of excitement from your fellow orcs as a human soldier is forced to fight one of his companions. In desperation to survive, his friendship quickly withers. His beaten opponent is brought before your altar, and with your Cutter you take the blood you need.

You are a citizen of the Roman Empire, and a professional heavy infantryman of the Roman Army. You enlisted in your legion for twenty-five years of service, and you are both relieved and anxious to know you have only a few years left.

As you double-check that your military-issued Legion Dagger and sword are securely in their holders, you feel prepared alongside your fellow soldiers to go into battle. You just hope that your training will continue to serve you well. At the very least, you have confidence in the sharpness of your weapon.

Your Elven ears hear the rustle of footsteps behind you. A smile crosses your delicate lips as you realize a stranger is attempting to sneak up on someone as lithe and alert as you. You are the kindred of the immortals, having honed your skills for hundreds of years. No normal mortal being can surprise you.

“Come out of hiding,” you call over your shoulder. “I know you are there.”

Again your Elven Ears pick up the faintest noise, and as you hear the ‘thwap!’ of an archer’s bow, you spin and dodge the incoming arrow. It appears some lesser creature is about to receive an important lesson about attacking an elf as powerful as you.

Your elven ears hear the rustle of footsteps behind you. A smile crosses your delicate lips as you realize a stranger is attempting to sneak up on someone as lithe and alert as you. You are the kindred of the immortals, having honed your skills for hundreds of years. No normal mortal being can surprise you.

”Come out of hiding,” you call over your shoulder. “I know you are there.”

Again your elven ears pick up the faintest noise, and as you hear the ‘thwap!’ of an archer’s bow, you spin and deflect the incoming arrow with your Lorian Dagger. It appears some lesser creature is about to receive an important lesson about attacking an elf as powerful as you.

Your Persian Dagger is the namesake of your people. Quick and sharp--precise in accuracy, and cruel when necessary--it is more an extension of who you are than a mere weapon.

In the early morning you wake to begin your sword drills. Honing your skill will one day mean the difference between life and death in this violent world. When you join the army and march upon the Spartans, you look forward to finally testing your blade against the most deadly fighters in the world.